


Coloured Houses

by inkand_paper (Fabuest)



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Crack, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-29
Updated: 2011-07-29
Packaged: 2017-11-04 19:56:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/397626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fabuest/pseuds/inkand_paper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spike and Bumblebee tell Prowl a riddle. Prowl doesn't get it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coloured Houses

**Author's Note:**

> A random idea that I decided to actually write. I have no excuse.

Bumblebee and Spike were grinning. In itself, this was not an unusual occurrence; what made the situation strange was the fact that they were approaching him while grinning, and their grins only grew wider as they got closer.  
  
“Hey, Prowl!” Bumblebee called.  
  
“Bumblebee,” Prowl acknowledged. “Spike.”  
  
“I've got a riddle for you, Prowl,” Spike said.  
  
Prowl's optics lit with interest. “Go on.”  
  
“Okay,” Spike began. “So if a black man lives in a black house-”  
  
“Spike,” Prowl interrupted, “is this to do with racial stereotypes and prejudices? Although I understand such things exist among humans, I have not downloaded any of the relevant information.”  
  
Spike laughed. “Nothing like that, Prowl. Just listen. If a black man lives in a black house, and a red man lives in a red house, and a yellow man lives in a yellow house-”  
  
“There is no evidence to support such claims,” Prowl interrupted again. “The correlation between skin pigmentation and the preferred hue of living accommodations is entirely nonlinear.”  
  
Bumblebee was now laughing so hard that his vents were stuttering dangerously, and Spike had to pause for several moments to collect himself before he could continue.  
  
“Ok, hold on – just... all right. Assume, for the sake of the riddle, that these statements are true _only in the context of the riddle_ ,” Spike instructed, and Prowl nodded. “Ok. So if a black man lives in a black house, and a red man lives in a red house, and a yellow man lives in a yellow house, and a blue man lives-”  
  
“Spike.”  
  
Spike paused, and the look he was giving Prowl could only be described as exasperated. Bumblebee, meanwhile, laughed even harder.  
  
“What, Prowl?” Spike asked.  
  
“'Blue' is not a colour of skin pigmentation native to the human species. Any statement involving a blue man, then, is inherently false and cannot be trusted.”  
  
“So, what, you're boycotting the riddle then?”  
  
“I am sorry, Spike, but assuming an inherently false statement to be true is liable to cause havoc with my battle computer. As a human, you have never been subjected to the full extent of Ratchet's ire. I have, however, and crashing my battle computer over a human riddle has a high probability of invoking it. Perhaps Optimus or Jazz would appreciate your riddle.”  
  
“Wait!” Bumblebee's laughter cut off with an abruptness suggestive of an emotional protocol inhibitor, a small program patch Prowl knew to be utilised by several Ops mechs and which he suspected neither Ratchet nor Optimus would approve of. “Look up the Blue Man Group, Prowl.”  
  
Prowl did so, and when he had accessed the results of his search, he shuttered his optics in a borrowed human expression of surprise, mostly for Spike's benefit.  
  
“Very well,” he acceded, “continue.”  
  
Spike's grin returned, and Bumblebee fairly howled with laughter. “Good thinking, Bumblebee! Okay, so if a black man lives in a black house, and a red man lives in a red house, and a yellow man lives in a yellow house, and a blue man lives in a blue house – you get the picture. If all these things are true, who lives in the White House?”  
  
Prowl frowned. The simplicity of the riddle was almost insulting – it was nothing more than a simple colour matching excercise! “The answer you are looking for is obviously 'a white man',” he said slowly, careful not to allow any fluctuation from his vocal modulator so as not to reveal his affront.  
  
Spike dissolved into laughter, and Bumblebee's stressed ventilation system gave out entirely as his own laughter switched from the human variant to Cybertronian, broadcast publicly over his commlink.  
  
“No,” Spike gasped between peals of laughter, “it's the president!”  
  
For the second time in less than a klik, Prowl shuttered his optics in surprise, then slowly turned and walked away, archiving the memory file for later analysis. He could still hear Spike and Bumblebee until he reached his office and closed the doors behind him.


End file.
